


One Step Closer

by phantisma



Series: Broken [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-19
Updated: 2007-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 02:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantisma/pseuds/phantisma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam ends up in Cassidy, and calls on the help of psychic friend to find out if Dean is even still alive...and then he finds the last woman Dean was ever seen with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Step Closer

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy, serious angst, anger and guilt. Borderline non-con het. Sammy gets pretty dark.

There was a knock on the motel room door and Sam looked up from his intense study of the stained carpet. He took a long drink from the bottle of Jack in his fist and set it aside on the night stand before he opened the door.

She was smaller than he remembered, petite. Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a pony tail and her Stanford sweatshirt was a gut level reminder of Jessica and the fact that he hadn’t told her anything. “Hey, Kerry.”

“Hey?” She looked up at him with her hands on her hips. “Look at you.”

Sam stood aside and she came into the room, crinkling her nose. “How long have you been here?”

“Few days.”

“You drinking all your meals, or just the ones between sunrise and sunset?” she asked, waving a hand at the collection of bottles on the dresser.

Sam nearly had the door closed when Rick pushed on it. “Hey Winchester.” He dropped two suitcases on the nearer bed and made a face. “Dude, you opposed to fresh air, or just like your own stench this much.”

Kerry hit him lightly. “He’s hurting, Rick. Leave him be.”

“What, only you can abuse me? Sam asked with a vague grin.

“You really could use a shower, and this place could use some airing out.” Kerry answered, sliding a hand into his. “Rick, why don’t you go get some food…and get rid of some of these bottles.”

“I thought I was here to help you.”

She smiled brightly at him. “You are…and food is helping.”

Rick rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. “You’re lucky I think you’re cute.”

When the door closed behind him, she took Sam’s hand. “I know it’s bad. I could tell when we were still three hours away. But if I’m going to help, I need you sober.”

Sam nodded and inhaled deeply. “I’m not drunk.”

“Not sober either.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not Sam.” Her face scrunched up. “Jessica’s worried sick about you.”

Sam shook his head and pulled away, running a hand through his hair. “I—I can’t deal with her right now. I need…I need to find my brother.”

She nodded her head slowly. “Okay…where do you want to start?”

Sam sighed explosively and rubbed at his face. “I don’t know anymore, that’s why I called you.” He waved a hand at the unused bed, strewn with everything he’d managed to put together as he traced the six months before Dean disappeared. “There’s not much.” He crossed to it, lifted some of the papers where he’d scribbled notes from talking to people who had seen his father and Dean…people they’d done jobs for, people they dealt with. “There’s nothing. It’s like he just vanished.”

“No one just vanishes Sam.” She crossed to the bed, climbing up to sit in the middle of it.

“This was the room they were staying in.” Sam said, scrubbing at his face. It was the last place he knew beyond a doubt Dean had been.

“You have something of his?” Kerry looked up, her blues eyes sparkling. He knew that look. She was already starting to get something.

He nodded and reached under the blanket of the bed he’d been sleeping in for Dean’s jacket. He hadn’t been able to let it go since he’d found it in the Impala. She raised an eyebrow at him and he scowled. “Don’t.”

She shook her head and reached for the jacket. “Go shower.”

“I’d rather watch.”

“You know I don’t like an audience.”

Sam shook his head. “Yeah…okay.”

“It’s going to take me some time anyway. Motel rooms are filled with psychic baggage.”

Sam grabbed clean clothes from his bag and headed for the bathroom while Kerry settled in, Dean’s jacket in her lap, notes spread out around her. He’d known her since his first week at Stanford. She’d come looking for him, asked for his help in getting rid of an angry spirit haunting her dorm. She’d just known he could…would…though it had taken her time to convince him.

He’d told her he left that life behind, and she’d told him that no one ever really leaves that behind. Once you know, you know and there’s no going back. He hadn’t believed her…but now…He shook his head and started the water.

He had to believe that she could help him. Had to believe that if nothing else she could help him find Dean’s…He bit his tongue, but couldn’t even think the word. He stripped out of clothes he’d been wearing for days and stepped into the shower, grateful that the water was hot.

He’d lost a month. A whole month he traced their steps, asked questions, looked for signs. There was nothing. No signs of anything trailing them. No indication that they lost a fight that came back to bite Dean in the ass. The story was the same everywhere. Dean and their father came, dealt with some bad thing, fought…one or the other got drunk and then they moved on.

Sam had rolled into Cassidy almost a week before. He found the hotel and got the clerk to give him the room where Dean and their father had stayed…or where John had stayed. From his father’s notes, Dean was in the room an hour or so, cleaning guns before they fought and he’d stormed out.

He’d looked around the motel, scoured the ravine in back, hiked down the hill at the end of the road. He’d found a truck that had been burned and abandoned, but no sign of bodies…no supernatural activity, no signs of demons or ghosts or any other monsters. The town was clean.

Sam fumbled for the shampoo, wondering how long it had been since he’d done the clean up routine. At least a few days. He knew Kerry was right, he had to pull himself together. He was no good to his brother in the bottom of a bottle…but he was nearly convinced he was no good to his brother anyway…after everything he’d done…after hurting him like he had.

Sam closed that whole line of thought down and shunted it away. The last thing he needed Kerry finding out about was the relationship between him and Dean. No one knew about that. It was wrong and fucked up…and that too was all Sam’s fault.

He finished rinsing and shut off the water, stepping out and drying off, before turning to the small mirror, wiping it clean so he could shave. He still wasn’t sober, but he felt a little more grounded as he pulled on clean jeans and a t-shirt and let himself out of the bathroom.

Kerry didn’t open her eyes, just held out her hand. He came to her, letting her guide him to kneel on the floor beside the bed before she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly.

When she pulled back a few minutes later there were tears in her eyes. “What? Tell me.” Sam’s heart stopped, sure she was going to say that Dean was gone…that he was never coming back…that he was in some hell or….he closed his eyes. “Kerry…just…tell me.”

She licked her lips and pulled herself together. “Give me your hands.”

He didn’t question, just let her take them. Her blue eyes burned eerily when they met his. “I don’t think Dean is dead.”

Sam exhaled slowly, tears spilling out onto his cheeks. “Wherever he is…it’s…” Her face scrunched up as if she was trying to pull an image out of the dark. “…he’s hurt…he’s…behind some wall. I can’t see him or reach him…I can’t be sure it isn’t just an echo, Sam. You hear me?” She squeezed his hands and he nodded. “I can’t be sure he’s still alive. He was here.” Her head turned to the table in the corner.

“He was angry, hurting…upset…lonely. He missed you.” Her voice had taken on that vague, disconnected sound it got when she was connected with something. “He fought with someone…but it wasn’t the person he was angry with…it was tired…it was…and then he left…whoever was left behind was…sad…took a phone call…drank…went to bed…”

Sam could almost see his father pacing the room, slamming down whatever cheap alcohol he had and passing out, fully expecting to find Dean asleep in the next bed when he woke up.

“Dean though…he went away. There’s a woman….red hair, lighter than mine. She was with him before the wall. Find the woman your brother had sex with that night. She’ll lead you to the wall.”

Kerry blinked a few times, turning to Sam when it all had cleared and she was a simple college co-ed again. She let go of his hands to brush her thumbs over his wet cheeks. “Sam?”

He swallowed the lump of emotion and closed his eyes. Alive. Somehow…someway, Dean was alive. And alone and hurt…but alive and waiting for someone to come for him. Kerry’s arms folded around him again and Sam let her draw him in, let her comfort him. He buried his face in the denim covering her thigh, wrapping arms around her waist as if she were a buoy to keep him from drowning.

Her small hands stroked his hair and down his back as he cried silently into her lap. Seven months Dean had been gone…some sort of prisoner…hidden behind a psychic wall…which meant, at the very least, someone who knew magic…possibly demons.

And his father had laid here in this bed, drunk while it happened.

His stomach twisted with rage, but before he could move or say anything, the door behind them opened. “I’m gone ten minutes, and you’re putting the moves on my girl?” Rick said from the door, his voice playful. Sam felt Kerry shake her head to warn him off, but he took a deep breath and sat up, wiping his face.

He held on to the anger and shook his head. “No…she’s too tiny for me, dude…I’d break her.” He lurched to his feet and stumbled toward the bathroom to wash his face.

“Sam—“

He held up his hand. He knew she could sense the fury, knew she was worried…but he needed it. The anger beat the fear. It was better…more productive. He knew how to work with anger. It was something he’d gotten used to before he left. “I’m fine Kerry. Let me wash my face. We’ll eat…and then I’ll show you the wild night life of Cassidy, Oregon.”

 

The bar where Dean most likely spent his last night of freedom wasn’t much to look at. It had a few tables, a pool table that looked to be on it’s last legs and a jukebox cranking out really old country music.

Sam toyed with the picture of Dean in his hand. He’d been in there twice already, but so far only the drunk at the end of the bar had admitted seeing Dean. It was close to closing. Sam sat at a table in the back nursing a beer. Watching. Waiting. He’d decided the likely target was the bartender. But he couldn’t make his move with the trio of regulars at the end of the bar.

So he waited. Soon, he thought to himself. Last call had come and gone a half hour or so before. Sure enough, the one closest to Sam lurched to his feet and the other two followed. Sam watched them leave, then lifted his beer bottle and drained the last of it. “We’re closing up buddy. Time to shove off,” the bartender said. Sam nodded and stood, pulling a five out of his pocket and crossing to the bar as if he was going to tip the guy.

He held it out with a smile and when the man’s hand touched his, Sam grabbed, yanked, and dislocated the shoulder while he pulled him over the bar. The man screamed in pain and tried to take a swing at him, but Sam just dropped him to the floor and straddled him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want a straight answer.” He held up the picture of Dean.

“He was in here seven months ago. Left with a red head. I want to know who she was. I’ve never—“

Sam stepped on the dislocated shoulder and the man screamed. “Okay…okay….she’s a regular. I take care of my regulars. But yeah…yeah…I saw him with her.”

“I want her name, I want to know when she comes in, I want to know where my brother is.”

The man shook her head. “Candace. Candace Jones…everyone calls her Candy. She’s a driver. Comes through every few weeks.”

Sam nodded. “When was she here last?”

“Three weeks ago tomorrow.”

He smiled down at the man. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” He straightened up and adjusted his shirt. “Thank you. Next time, save yourself some pain, and answer the fucking question.” He dropped the five on the man’s heaving chest and left the bar. One step closer.

 

 

Sam Winchester was not a stupid man. He checked out of the hotel and set the Impala in the parking lot of the truck stop on the east side of the bar. He waited. He watched the bar. He watched the trucks come and go. Two nights passed without anything of note, but on the third, a rig with black and pink paint and the name “Candy” in glitter on the doors pulled in parked between the bar and the truck stop. A woman with strawberry blond hair pulled into a pony tail jumped down, dusting off the legs of her skin tight jeans and heading toward the truck stop.

He got out of the car. If he let her get into the bar, she’d be warned…and he’d have to go at her a different way. He strode toward the truck stop doors, angling his stride to intersect hers, his phone pressed to his ear…and while he covertly watched her to make sure he’d reach her before the doors, he pretended to be distracted.

They crashed together ten feet from the doors, Sam reaching out and grabbing her arm to keep her from falling to the ground, though he made sure to tangle their legs a little to keep them stumbling until his shoulder hit the wall of the building. “God, I’m so sorry. I should have been watching where I was going.” Sam said in his most ingratiating tone as he extricated himself.

“No…no harm, no foul.” She grinned as his hand accidentally brushed across her ass on its way from between her and the wall. “Nothing bruised.”

“Nothing but my pride.” Sam said, smiling down at her. “I really am sorry.” He held up his phone and shook his head. “Damn things…like wearing a freaking leash, you know?” He pushed the hair off his forehead. “You must think I’m an idiot. I’m Sam.” He held out his hand and she took it with a grin.

“I think you’re cute…which trumps idiot. I’m Candy.”

Sam grinned and ducked his head. “Thanks.”

Her hand slid down his arm. “If you were mine, I’d keep you on a leash too.”

Sam arched an eyebrow at her. This was going to be easier than he thought. “I was just going to go buy a six pack and find some quiet place to drink it. I know this is totally forward of me…having just crashed into you and nearly killing you…but I’d rather not drink alone.”

“You hitting on me Sam?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Would that be okay? I mean…if I was?”

Her hand came to rest on his chest and she smiled up at him. “Oh, yes Sam. That would be very okay. Tell you what though…you make it a bottle of Cuervo, I’ll get the salt and limes…I’ll show you a nice quiet spot out back.”

Ten minutes later they were arm in arm, going back to her truck for a blanket. “I’ve never been up in one of these.” Sam said, running a hand over the grill. “Is it roomy?”

She tilted her head. “We could skip the walk if you like…plenty of room in here.”

Sam grinned up at her, his hand moving up her leg to cradle her ass. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, even for a big guy like you.”

He was all smile, confident and easy, an expression that belonged on Dean’s face, not his. This was the way Dean got information. It was uncomfortable. He climbed up behind her, handing up the bag with the alcohol and limes. By the time he was in the cab, she was already in the bunk behind the seats, the tequila open. “There’s a knife in my bag there, sugar. Cut me a lime?”

_I’ll cut something._ Sam thought as he reached into the small bag on the passenger seat and came out with a pocket knife. He cut open a couple of limes, quartering them and handing one across. She downed a healthy swallow of tequila and sucked the lime into her mouth.

“You gonna sit there and watch…or come back here and help me out of these jeans?”

“I’m gonna take that bottle and catch up with you while you get rid of the jeans.” Sam countered, reaching for the bottle. He took a long pull on it and watched as she pulled on the button and yanked the zipper down, laying back and wiggling out of the jeans. It was easy to see she’d done this a lot.

“Must have thought you were getting lucky.” Sam said, pointing at he lack of panties.

“I always do, sugar…I always do.”

She reached for him, caught his foot and pulled his boot off, then wriggled around until she got a hand on the other one. Candy knew her way around a man’s legs and before Sam had fully registered her movement, her hand was in his pants, fondling him to hardness. “That’s more like it.”

“In a hurry?” Sam asked.

“Don’t know how far that leash of yours reaches, Sam. Don’t want you running off and leaving me unsatisfied.”

“My Daddy taught me to never leave a woman unsatisfied, Candy…you just lay back…let me show you.” Her eyes sparkled and she scooted back, laying down as Sam put the bottle on the floor and crawled over her. He couldn’t bring himself to kiss her. This wasn’t romance. It wasn’t even a fling. He wasn’t Dean. This was business.

He licked her thighs, running his hands up over her knees and pushing them out to the side…he licked and nipped at milky white skin. She squirmed, lifting her shirt and squeezing her own breasts. He had to work to keep focused on her…he couldn’t help thinking this woman had done this with Dean. She’d brought him here….he’d been right here, kneeling between her legs, licking her skin…He licked a path up the inside of one thigh and into the patch of hair over her slit.

She squealed when he diverted one hand to cup her sex, one long finger penetrating her easily. Her hips pitched up, her eyes closed tightly. When his thumb strummed over her clit, she shuddered. “Like that, Candy?” Sam asked. Everything he knew about this particular act he’d learned watching Dean with any number of conquests when Dean thought he was sleeping.

He leaned down and licked over her clit, felt her walls tighten around his finger. He need to focus on that. He needed her to come, before he moved on to the next step. She squirmed and wriggled against him, doing most of the work for him. “Eager little slut, aren’t you?” Sam whispered as she yelled and her thighs quaked against his head as she came.

He reached for the bottle and made it look like he took a heavy swig before he held it over her mouth. “Open up.” He poured and watched her swallow, pulling back just before she would start having trouble, then he was squeezing a lime over her mouth.

Sam licked up her stomach to her breasts, circling one nipple, then the other and she moaned. “My turn,” she murmured, reaching for his cock.

“I’ll tell you when it’s your turn.” Sam said, his voice a growl. His hand wrapped in her pony tail and he pulled her up, flipping her over easily. His free hand pulled his cock out and guided it into her, slamming home hard and fast. She pushed back, but he wasn’t interested in her help. He pulled on her hair until she yelled.

“Now that I have your attention, Candy, I have a question for you.” It took him a second to get the picture out of his jeans pocket, and he dropped it on the floor in front of her. “Where is my brother?”

He slammed into her hard and she gasped. “I—I—who the hell are you?”

He pulled her hair again, then licked up her spine to her shoulder. He bit down on it, hard…just shy of breaking the skin. “I’m asking the questions, Candy. Answer me.”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to give you a little clue here, Candy. That’s the wrong answer.” His free hand twisted her nipple until she cried out. “I’m not going to give you a lot of chances here.”

She shuddered as he pulled out and slammed back into her. “I…really don’t know,” she whispered. “I never know. I just do what I’m told.”

Sam shifted his hand from her breast down to her clit, massaging it in slow circles in reward. “Who tells you?”

“T-two guys…just…these two guys.”

He pulled his hand away, kept himself inside her and pulled her head so he could see her face. “Maybe you need some more to drink….loosen you up?” Her eyes were just starting to glaze over, the drug he’d dropped into the alcohol starting to spread its fingers into her body. “You will tell me eventually. This drug is good for that. Unfortunately, too much of it will kill you too...and it’s a rather inexact dose…so…” He reached for the bottle and she started to shake.

“Please…they’ll kill me. I just…I just pick them up…kinda work them over…so their sated…drunk. That’s all. I never see what happens to them.”

“How much?” Sam asked roughly. “What did they give you for him?”

“Couple thousand.”

Sam shoved her to the mattress and fucked into her roughly. “You fucking slut. You goddamn bitch. I want names. I want to know how they contact you.”

She quivered under him and he wasn’t sure how much was fear, how much was the drug and how much was her turned on by his rough handling. He bit into her shoulder. “Now.’

She shook her head. “I can’t. These…they’ll kill me. I can’t…”

“You think I won’t kill you?” Sam said low in her ear. He wrapped her ponytail tighter around his hand. “You think I won’t? You took my brother from me. I want him back, and I don’t care what it takes.”

She bit her lip and Sam slammed into her again. There was no way he was going to finish. He couldn’t come close to coming. He pulled out and dragged her up by her hair. He shoved the bottle at her. “Drink.”

“Please…I have…I have a family.”

Sam’s face was cold, hard, his lips a thin line as he leaned in close. “So do I.” He pressed the bottle to her lips, yanking on her hair until she opened her mouth. He poured and she swallowed, just to keep from drowning. “Talk.”

“They…they come to me in different places…bring me pictures. Tell me where I’ll find them.”

“Who are they?”

“Big guys. One’s called Randy, the other is Dennis. They call themselves recruiters.”

“Recruiters? For what?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I…never asked. I needed the money.”

“I don’t want to know about you.” Sam said. He lifted the bottle again. “Drink.”

“Please…please…”

“I said drink.” Sam shoved the bottle at her. It was going to leave a bruise. He found he really didn’t care. “Last names?”

She shook her head. “No. Just Randy and Dennis. Please…I have a daughter…I don’t want to die…”

Sam looked away. He didn’t want to pity her. Didn’t want to know she had a daughter…or a mother or anything else. He breathed out through his nose and backhanded her across the cheek.

“How do I find them?”

She was afraid, he could see it in her face, in the wilds of her eyes, in the hands that shook. He liked afraid, he could work with that. “Give me something. A phone number, a location…a car…”

She nodded, swallowing. “Yeah…the car. It’s a…a…caddy…older…black, tinted windows. It comes before the van.” She licked her lips. “Vanity plates. California…’masters’…or something.”

Sam sat back, letting go of her and tucking himself back inside his jeans. He wasn’t going to get more out of her, he could see that. Any more of the drug and tequila and she’d just pass out. “I suggest you sleep it off. I’ll be gone before you can think about calling for help.”

Her eyes were drifting closed as he climbed back into the front seat, and she was out before he opened the door and climbed down. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and searched out the number he wanted. “Hey Rick. Oh, sorry, it is late. Look, I need another favor. You still got your fingers in the DMV database? I need a name. California vanity plate, Master or Masters. I’m on my way to you. Should be there tomorrow night.”

Dean was alive. Alive and taken and he had a lead. A tentative lead at best, but a lead. One step closer. Whether it was closer to salvation or damnation, he wasn’t sure, he only knew it was one step closer to Dean.


End file.
